Nourish Your Soul: Staying in the Present Moment

Autumn stirs up memories. The crisp air and flurry of back-to-school activities cause me to remember moments I don’t think about during the other three seasons.

It brings me back to a time when I looked to the future saying, “My life awaits me out there.”

Fall reminds me of hope. Not real, Word-rooted hope but the hope I used to have. It was the hope I found in the stretch of time that lay at my feet.

The unknown.

The possibilities.

The idea of a bright future.

Even now, I’m guilty of going inward into the workshop of my imagination. I concoct something to look forward to—my own poor imitation of hope.

The version of hope I come up with in this stage of life looks like a future self that can be described with words like poise and class. It looks like confidence and capability, expertise and respect.

Those aren’t words I would use to describe myself now, and that’s the point.

It’s a goal to achieve out there, somewhere, in the future.

Hope in my future self says, “The best of everything is still in the days that are before me.”

On the other hand, I confess I often look back on the past with longing. Sentimentality has me walking through memories and sighing fondly about “the good ol’ days.”

Whether selling my kids’ baby gear, sorting through college papers, or looking at photos of old friends, my stirred emotions try to sell me the idea that the best of life is already done and gone.

It’s tempting to believe that the height of it all is in the past.

The Ultimate Good

Delighting in the future tells us that something on the horizon will be the ultimate good.

Sentimentality tells us that life in the past was the ultimate good.

But neither is true.

The future is a thought of tomorrow in the present. The past is a thought of yesterday in the present. They are ideas that can only exist in the present.

But I know what else exists with us in the present.

God saw fit to forgo his temple of gold and incense, of blood and bread. He deemed my heart a rightful place to make his home because of Christ’s cleansing work.

Can I say that his presence is better than my projected ideas of the future? Can I believe that his presence with me trumps any memory of young adulthood I can conjure?

I find myself so dearly attached to my future plans and past experiences, that I find it hard, honestly, to set down my treasures and exclaim a hearty, “yes!”

But when I surrender it all to God, I know he will loosen my grip on these poor replications of hope. 

Remembrance with gratitude isn’t wrong, and a prayerful glance at the calendar’s coming events isn’t evil. But looking to those places with a fondness of heart that trumps the affection I feel for living with Christ now?

It ushers me into the land of discontentment.

Eternity With Christ

The next natural question is one about our ultimate destination—our home with Christ. Isn’t waiting and longing for eternity with him just a dressed-up version of wishing away the present while waiting for the future?

Longing for eternity with Christ differs from a longing for the earthly future that will come tomorrow or ten years from now.

Eternity is a certainty. Tomorrow or ten years from now on this earth is not.

When we plan for living with Christ forever, we do not plan in vain. Reflecting on how the actions of today have an eternal impact is essential for maintaining the right perspective of life.

The certainty of an eternity spent with Christ informs the values I adopt and the actions I take today. While we plan for a future on the earth, we hold our aspirations loosely, knowing our life is only a mist. 

The past is gone, and the future isn’t guaranteed. But God has established this present moment and promised eternity with him. The gift of with-ness he has granted us now will be fully realized when we stand in his presence one day.

Living in the past or the future depletes our souls while embracing the present moment and its implications for eternity brings nourishment and contentment.

When the faint scent of woodsmoke finds me on the carried breeze and the leaves begin to change from green to yellow, I will thank God for his goodness in the past and the provision he promises me always. But I will refrain from drawing too deeply into the well of sentimental ruminations or the dreams of tomorrow. I will remember that to be present with the Lord, whether in the body or out of the body is a miracle, is wholeness, is life.

*Featured image by Taylor Wright on Unsplash